


A Thursday at Wardlow

by whopooh



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Flashfic challenge, Gen, a day in the life of mr butler, solid fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/pseuds/whopooh
Summary: It's a Thursday morning at Wardlow and Mr Butler is in the kitchen preparing a salad. People keep on showing up.For the prompt: tomato – insensitive - dialogue: "That looks entirely unsafe."





	A Thursday at Wardlow

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the flashfic challenge. The challenge was to write a fic from prompts within two hours!
> 
> There was no time for beta help, so apologies for any errors.

It was a Thursday morning. The sun was filtering inside through the windows, and Mr Butler had left the door slightly ajar, allowing some of the heat to seep in. He was standing in the kitchen, preparing one of his special salads he knew pleased the palate of his mistress especially. As he grabbed the tomato to expertly cut it in an elaborate pattern, he even started whistling – it was that kind of day.

“Mr Butler!” came a voice from the door to the dining room. “Do you mind if I take some of the scones from this morning to City South?”

He looked up to see young Dorothy in the doorway. She had a lovely dress on, in the kind of peach colour that suited her so well. Her eyes were bright and expectant.

“Of course not, Dorothy,” he said. “Just make sure you bring enough of the clotted cream and the jam to satisfy Constable Collins. You know how disappointed he gets if they don’t make a thick enough layer.”

Dorothy smiled and made it to the cupboard to fish out some cream and jam and arrange everything in a basket. She lined it properly with a tea towel and made sure there were more scones than Hugh could possibly eat by himself.

“How do you always notice everything, Mr Butler?” 

“It’s a simple trick, Dorothy. You just need to care enough about two things: details and people.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” Dot answered. “I am trying to train myself, so I can be as much of help to Miss Fisher as possible.”

Dot wrapped up the content of her basket and exited through the kitchen door. Mr Butler could hear her greeting someone out in the garden, and soon enough, Bert and Cec appeared at the door.

“Morning, Mr B,” Cec said, politely. “How are things this fine day?”

“Good morning Cecil, Albert,” Mr Butler nodded to the two red raggers. “What can I do for you?”

“Any small work Miss Fisher needs to get done today?” Cec asked.

“And any chance for some scones?” Bert added.

“Oi, didn’t we agree on asking about the work first,” Cec scolded his friend, “and not be insensitive brats?”

“We did ask about the work first, didn’t we?” Bert grumbled. “I didn’t know there was a specific timing to take into consideration.”

Cec rolled his eyes. Mr Butler, on the other hand, had already laid out the table with scones, cream, jam, and tea.

“Please, help yourselves, gentlemen,” he said.

They didn’t need to be asked twice. There was some grumbling about who could assemble a scone first, and Bert ended up the victor. Just as he set his teeth in the delicious creation – favouring jam more than the cream – Jane turned up at the door. She had been sitting out in the garden under a shade, reading.

“Mr Butler!” she said, then noticed the cabbies and broke out into a smile. “Cec, Bert! What a lovely surprise!”

“Didn’t you see us when we came?” Cec asked. “We waved at you and all.”

“Oh,” Jane answered, blushing slightly. “I must have been too absorbed by my book.”

Bert made a grunt, making it as much of a scoff as was possible with his mouth full of scone. 

“Must’ve been a good book. What’cha reading?” Cec said, mouth only half full.

“It’s Herodotus’ _Histories_. I wanted to ask Mr Butler of his views on the battle of Marathon,” Jane said, making the men smile at her enthusiasm. “Mr Butler knows everything,” she confided in the cabbies. “But I’ll come back later, when there’s not so many things going on.” 

She grabbed a scone from the table and slipped away before anyone had time to reply.

“As a matter of fact, Miss Fisher does have a job for you, gentlemen,” Mr Butler said, answering the question they had originally asked. “She needs you to go to the docks and see if there’s been any suspicious cargo coming in from France. You need to be discreet.” 

He handed Bert a paper with more details scribbled down.

“You can count on us, Mr Butler,” Bert said as he glanced through the note. “I know exactly where we should start.”

He swallowed the last bite, washing it down together with a full cup of tea. 

“Coming, Cec?” he said, forcing his mate to join him, unfinished scone in hand.

Mr Butler was alone again, taking up his work with the vegetables as well as his whistling. He was quite sure his mistress would be down any minute now, after her short refreshing morning nap and preparation for the day. She’d had a late night the day before, staking out a warehouse to see if she could find out anything about the French connection.

Moments later, he heard footsteps in the stairs. Smiling, he turned to the door. As Miss Fisher appeared, stunning as usual, this time in blue and black, he said:

“Good day, Miss. I hope you have an appetite for a salad niçoise, with the special butler touch, today?”

“That was exactly what I was hoping for, Mr B,” Phryne beamed. “You are a marvel.”

He made a small bow, knife in hand. “I’ll be ready in a quarter of an hour, Miss” he said. 

Just as the salad was finished, Mr Butler heard a knock at the door. He smiled at himself; just as he’d thought. He had prepared a salad for two, after all.

“I’ll take it myself, Mr B,” Phryne called. He heard her reach the door and open it.

“Jack!” he heard her exclaim, delighted.

“Good day, Miss Fisher.” The answering voice was deep and warm. “I need to talk to you about some evidence we’ve uncovered.”

“Is it the French connection?” she asked.

There was a small pause.

“How did you know?” The inspectors voice was not so much surprised as stoic.

“Come in, Jack, you’re just in time for lunch,” Phryne said. 

This was the time for Mr Butler to appear, salad in hand, to prepare the dinner table. He nodded at the Inspector, who nodded back as the butler passed. 

“Oh, Mr Butler!” Phryne said. “I just need to clear off the dinner table.”

The table was covered in a pile of documents, as well as several weapons. Phryne started to collect them and put them on a side table.

“Miss Fisher,” Jack said, giving her a chastising look. “Do you always have this much arms at home? That looks entirely unsafe.”

Phryne looked at him, tilting her head as she gave him a small smile.

“It couldn’t be safer, Jack, and I’m sure you’ll agree. Mr Butler is the one keeping them safe.”

Jack gave the older man a look, and when Mr Butler nodded to him, he seemed to relax.

“I suppose that would be in order, then,” he said. 

Phryne’s smile was radiant. They sat down as Mr Butler laid out the table.

“Salad niçoise, and bread fresh from this morning, Miss, Inspector,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

“Thank you, Mr Butler. We’ll manage from here,” Phryne said, smiling gratefully at him. 

As he exited the room, he saw her smile turn to the man beside her. 

“So, about the French connection…” she said. 

Mr Butler retreated to the kitchen, deliberating a little before deciding to prepare something for the evening. 

It was a Thursday, which was one of his favourite days, and the case Miss Fisher worked on seemed to go well. He was quite sure there would be a need for pie in the immediate future.


End file.
